


A Practical Demonstration

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Onslaught shows Motormaster how to please his team. </p>
<p>Contains explicit consensual sticky, crack. Written to a prompt from Caius that's almost exactly the same as the summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Practical Demonstration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/gifts).



Jack in, jack out, jack off, that was how it worked. 

At least that was how Motormaster thought that it worked. But Dead End had just lain there staring at the ceiling, Wildrider had spent the whole time stifling a yawn, and Breakdown hadn't even turned up. Of all of them, Drag Strip had made the most effort, but only because he wanted to win. Which he couldn't, because he wasn't gestalt commander. Winning was Motormaster's right, although he was beginning to understand that winning at interfacing wasn't anywhere near as straightforward as the manual made out.

There was nothing else for it, Motormaster needed help.

* * *

"Sit on the bunk and open your covers," Onslaught instructed. "All of them."

Motormaster got as far as locking the door. "What?"

"You requested a practical session," Onslaught said. 

"No, yeah, I remember." Motormaster didn't move. "But I thought you meant... Y'know, you'd bring Swindle or something." 

"I hardly think so." Onslaught gave Motormaster's cluttered room a quick scan, and tugged over the one unoccupied chair to sit on. "Don't give me that look. Swindle is a highly experienced individual, it would not be productive to expose him to-"

"Virgin incompetence?" Motormaster sneered.

Onslaught sighed. "I was going to say crass inexperience, but if the hubcap fits. Now sit down."

Motormaster huffed steam and scowled, but his aft made contact with the bunk. "So what now?" he demanded.

"Now you listen," Onslaught said. "And you obey, and with any luck you'll learn something."

"I'd better."

"Let's cut some of the light," Onslaught said. "Dim your optical sensors too. That's it." He rolled the chair up to the bunk, and put his hands on Motormaster's knees. 

"Uh..."

"You do understand what you were asking for when you requested a _practical_ demonstration?" Onslaught asked. 

"Yeah, of course, I'm not stupid." 

"You just thought we'd be demonstrating on someone else?"

"Well yeah. Swindle-"

"You're interested in Swindle?"

"No! But he's a car. Jeep. He's the right size, a bit heavier than mine, but he'll do." 

"I'm sure he'd be flattered," Onslaught commented, and began to rub his thumbs along the twin seams that led from Motormaster's knees to the tops of his thighs.

"What're you doing?"

"Can you feel that?"

"Yeah, it tickles. What is it?"

"It's one of many things you can do to help relax and prepare your partners before interface."

Motormaster's lip curled. "It's..." He fidgeted, watching as Onslaught's thumbs stroked higher. 

"Pleasant?" Onslaught suggested. 

"Tickly," Motormaster said, but there was a catch in his voice, and his ventilation had definitely stepped up a notch.

"Good." Onslaught said, and flared his energy field just enough to kiss the sensors inside the seam.

Motormaster's voice rose by an octave. " _Good?_ " 

"Oh yes, very good." Onslaught did it again, and Motormaster gasped and found sudden and intense visual interest in the ceiling. "Did you like that?"

"What's that got to do with anything?!"

Onslaught rolled his optics, and made his energy field pulse. "Everything," he said. "You want a better rapport with your team, don't you?"

Biting his lip, Motormaster nodded. 

"You want them to come to you? You want to make them quiver and beg and call out your name when you make them overload?"

The nodding became more vehement.

"Then interrogation is your primary tactic, and 'do you like that?' is the question you should be asking." 

"Can't... can't you just tell?"

"With experience," Onslaught said. "Which..." He edged forward, stroking his thumbs down the seams at the tops of Motormaster's thighs. "...you currently lack. Mmmm, feel how warm you are there."

"That a good sign?"

Onslaught nodded. "Now spread your legs wider, that's it. You might want to lean back on your hands... Good. How does this feel?"

"Uh... odd?" Motormaster said. He looked down, to where Onslaught had a hand cupped over the cover to his port. "Doesn't feel like much, is it meant to?"

"No," Onslaught said. "You're armour-plated for a reason. I just wanted to show you the difference between that... and _this_." He flared his field again, a light brush to tease the sensors at the rim of Motormaster's port. 

The Stunticon's jaw dropped. "Oh frag."

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Uhuh!"

"It gets better."

"Then hurry up and make it better!"

"Patience," Onslaught said. "Observe your own responses, remember them. You can use this."

"Yeah, whatever! Do that again!"

"What, this?" Onslaught said, making his field pulse in time with the waves of heat and needy, unpractised lust rolling off his student. 

Motormaster slumped back, holding himself up on his elbows. His legs were strutless, his panel incandescent. 

"Open your covers," Onslaught said. "Port and cord."

Motormaster grunted and did as he was told. Onslaught watched the cord pressurise, taking in the basic design, the size, the simple etchings glowing purple at the base. A war model, nothing fancy, but rich with sensors and gently flanged at the tip. 

"What are you waiting for?" Motormaster snapped.

Onslaught smirked behind his mask, but his voice was calm encouragement. "Do you often self service?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you stimulate yourself to overload, using your hands on either your cord or your port?" 

The expression on Motormaster's face spoke volumes. "People _do_ that?"

"Frequently," Onslaught said. "Some people hardly seem to stop."

"Waste of time," Motormaster growled. "This is a means to an end."

"Of course," Onslaught said. "Now tell me how this feels."

"Weird," Motormaster replied instantly. He peered down past his chest. "Kinda poky? What are you... ooooh _frag_."

"And that," Onslaught said, "is the difference between inexpert fumbling, and the tactic of locating and stimulating a sensor cluster. Are you with me?"

Motormaster slumped onto his back, legs trailing off the edge of the bunk. "Yeaaaaaaah..."

"When preparing one of your team for penetration, you can use your fingers or your tongue. Aim first for these sensors around the rim..." 

Motormaster gripped the bunk's mesh covering, crumpling it in his hands. 

"... You can touch these dry, but don't rub hard. Lubricate if necessary, and as soon as things begin to warm up, you can employ your fingers to relax the opening."

"'M relaxed," Motormaster said with far more enthusiasm than accuracy. 

"Enjoyment is not the same as readiness," Onslaught said. "Something you need to understand if you want to keep your team out of medbay."

"Huh?"

"You are considerably larger than them," Onslaught said. "The Constructicons are not keen on fixing more intimate injuries. It's one thing to fumble your way through a hardline connection, it's another entirely to mess this up."

Motormaster grumbled an objection. Then gasped as Onslaught stroked further inside him. 

"There are sensors at regular - or irregular - intervals," he said. "You need to map these, remember their locations, exploit them. Particularly this one." He twisted his wrist, hooking his fingers slightly and reaching up. Motormaster yelled in what could only have been pleased surprise. 

"Whawasthat?"

"Ceiling node," Onslaught said. "Designed to be massaged by the ridges of a cord. If your partner is sufficiently aroused, and if you pay this enough attention - particularly if you pair stimulation of this node with oral stimulation of a sensor cluster at the rim - you should be able to overload any member of your team given time."

"Time? How much time!"

"Experience will tell." Onslaught withdrew, to Motormaster's obvious frustration. He coated the fingers of his free hand with the mech's lubricants, and gently touched his cord.

"Is... is that _it?_ I mean, in that, uh, location..."

"No," Onslaught said. "But this is a practical demonstration, and there's something I wish to demonstrate."

Half a breem later Motormaster was experiencing his first spike overload. Another breem after that, and his port convulsed with a pleasure that Onslaught was certain the Stunticon had not anticipated. 

Onslaught grinned between his legs, sliding his mask back into place before rising, and tugging the limp and steaming frame to the centre of the bunk. 

"I have something else to show you," Onslaught said, allowing his own cable finally to pressurise. He climbed up, kneeling between Motormaster's spread thighs.

Motormaster raised a hand from the bunk, then let it fall again. "More," he demanded, an edge of steel under the fuzz of contentment. " _Now._ "

Onslaught took it slow, not at this stage for Motormaster, but for himself. To be the first to experience a newly made port, it was an experience worth savouring. Especially a port as warm and smooth and ready for him as this. 

Motormaster groaned and bucked, and Onslaught rocked inside him, slow continuous thrusts to cut through that haze of satiation. He knew he'd won when Motormaster drew him closer, deeper, when his moans of pleasure took on an urgent tone and he began to make more explicit demands. 

It was exactly the position in which Motormaster wanted his team, although Onslaught was certain the irony would be lost on him. 

Holding back until he was certain that he'd brought Motormaster to overload, Onslaught's own climax was secondary to the heady joy of conquest. He withdrew, packing away his equipment, and retired to the chair. 

Motormaster glared at him with a semblance of challenge. "They won't be doing that to me," he said. 

"No," Onslaught replied. He took a cloth and wiped the fluids from his plating. "But now you know how it should feel for them."

A grunt was all the response Motormaster seemed willing to give. He hauled himself into a sitting position and looked down at the mess. 

"Shower," Onslaught said. "Refuel." He stood. "We'll reconvene after your shift."

"Reconvene? But you did the demo."

"I did," Onslaught said calmly. "And now you know how it feels to receive. In the next session, you'll learn how to give."

" _Give?_ "

"To manipulate your partners," Onslaught said. "To learn how to make them want you."

"They're not gonna be in any demonstration," Motormaster said. "Am I gonna..." He gave Onslaught's crotch an unsubtle glare.

"No," Onslaught said. "This time I'll attend in a purely supervisory capacity. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a team briefing." He made for the door, but Motormaster grabbed his arm.

"Who?" he said. 

"Vortex," Onslaught replied. "He's a little larger than your troops, but he comes with one considerable benefit."

Motormaster let go of Onslaught's arm. "Which is?"

"He volunteered."

Onslaught allowed himself one last glance at Motormaster as he left the Stunticon's room. Now there was a mech who was beginning to realise he was in over his head, but who wasn't about to admit it to himself, let alone to anyone else. 

Life in the Decepticon ranks was certainly improving and, Onslaught thought, there was the significant chance it could only get better.


End file.
